


bird-brain

by diapason



Series: tommy-centric [6]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, Animal Instincts, Basically, Best Friends, Childhood Trauma, Dead Wilbur Soot, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Fluff, Gen, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Light Angst, Platonic Cuddling, Proud of this one, Toby Smith | Tubbo Has Horns, Toby Smith | Tubbo and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wing Grooming, Winged TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wingfic, Wings, and BEST BESTIES, everyones a hybrid yaaaaaay, found siblings, love you tag wranglers, not gone into in detail dw, shameless self indulgence, thats enough tags, this server is fucking choked with magic, turns everyone into weird animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29191386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diapason/pseuds/diapason
Summary: Tommy's got a whole host of problems with being a hybrid - not least of all the fact that it's really hard to preen your wings alone. Sadly, it seems like nothing's gonna take his mind off of things.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, seriously if you interpret this as romantic i'll interpret your face as a punching bag
Series: tommy-centric [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2159838
Comments: 107
Kudos: 1019
Collections: Completed fics I read, Myct wing ficssssss, Tommy and Tubbo Friendship Supremacy





	bird-brain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andthentheybow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthentheybow/gifts).



> "wingfics make brain go brrrr"  
> \- jonesy andthentheybow, 2021
> 
> so here it is :)

Obviously, Tommy wasn't used to being touched in a way that wasn't… wrong.

He'd been through so much - wars, abuse, manipulation - he'd died twice over and come close on a dozen more occasions. He'd literally been so close to leaving the world that Wilbur had told him a spot was growing for him, the last time they'd ever spoken and probably ever would speak. He'd been grabbed by the shoulders and shoved by the arms and kicked in the shins and slapped in the face over the years, growing numb to the constant injury that faced him for the mistake of living in the Dream SMP in the first place.

He was also used to a lack of touch at all: when Dream hadn't been hitting him he was very hands-off, never offering warmth and comfort, keeping distant enough that Tommy assumed it was his own fault. When he'd returned from exile Tubbo never seemed to hold his hand again like the old days, almost like he thought if he reached for Tommy his best friend would vanish out of existence (which he _wouldn't,_ because he wasn't going anywhere as far as Tubbo went), and nobody else made a habit of giving Tommy hugs or anything. He was generally left well alone - a bit of a figure in the local area, a bit of a legend, a bit of a tall tale that people tended to want to stay away from.

Growing wings hadn't helped, of course.

It seemed like the moment Dream had been locked away in prison and he'd finally seen the bastard start to _break_ the way he'd broken Tommy back in Logsted, the shackles were off, and his body had done the only thing it knew of to cope with all this excess nervous energy that was building up now that he was genuinely in peacetimes, something he hadn't seen since Wilbur -

Well.

He'd grown wings, now.

Nothing like Philza's - and Tommy had never seen Phil's wings at full capacity, but he'd heard the tales, both from Wilbur on dark nights at the bottom of cold ravines and from Techno during snowstorms in the basement of a warm cabin, he'd heard about their raven sheen and the way a single beat could propel him high into the sky like a firework had set him off, he'd heard about their glory and he'd seen the dead fire that once was lit in the back of Phil's eyes, dulled without the wind to fan their flames. Nothing like them. Tommy's were bright and white and gold and a little bit orangey-red at the base, which he was hoping would spread to the rest of them, because it would really go with his shirt. They weren't as big as he reckoned Phil's were, even though he was taller (and think of that, _taller_ than Emperor Philza Minecraft Watson) and could have used the wingspan, but they were definitely substantial and they made him feel powerful in his own right and they were a great way to work off the jitters that came from not actually being in a constant state of fighting for your life.

He'd grown wings and he didn't really talk to Phil any more and he didn't _want_ to talk to Phil about them (didn't really want to burden him with the memories, all that, you know) so he wasn't quite sure how to stop them getting all bent out of shape.

So here he was, sitting on the floor in Innit Enterprises, one wing stretched until it brushed the wall, trying to preen himself.

It wasn't working.

The first problem was that his wings, being designed to, you know, carry an _entire six-foot-two hybrid human,_ were a lot lot longer than his arms, and they didn't reach the farthest feathers. Which would have been alright - he could just bring the wing in closer to his chest, right? - if it weren't for the fact that that required him to _bend_ the wing, and the whole point of preening was to get your feathers _straight._ So as it was all he could really do was clutch at the floor with one hand, scrabble at the farthest feathers he could reach with his other, and try desperately to get them all sorted without making enough of a fuss that anybody heard, peeked through the windows in his door to check what was going on, and started laughing at how ridiculous he probably looked.

You weren't supposed to have to preen yourself, was the thing - but Tommy didn't exactly have anybody to do it for him.

Wilbur… yeah.

Phil? Miles away, far as he knew, and he didn't want to go through the Nether or make a massive boat ride to get to the Arctic Commune just for a bit of help from stupid Philza Minecraft on his stupid wonky wings.

Same with Techno. Too far. Not worth it.

Tubbo…

He wasn't really sure where Tubbo was, but the guy was probably busy with his nuclear weapons or whatever. Nothing he wanted Tommy to get involved in, and so Tommy wouldn't bother Tubbo with his own issues. They were two different people. Tubbo shouldn't feel a need to follow Tommy around and take care of all his problems. They could do with the separation after all that mess they'd been through.

Everybody else on this stupid server he didn't care enough about to trust them with his preening.

So that left Tommy all by himself on the floor of the dirt house (the way he liked it, simple and homely and rustic), fingers barely reaching halfway down his wing, trying his best to preen himself.

God, how stupid he looked right now.

The wingtips taunted him. There was just _one_ little feather peeking out from the edge of his wing at a different angle to all the others - a white one right at the join where they started shifting into yellow, poking its stupid feather face out right where it didn't belong and saying "mehmehmeh, I'm different, I want to be special, fuck you, TommyInnit!" He hated it. He despised it. He scorned its very existence. He wished it would just get into fucking place where it belonged so he could stop worrying about all this and get back to flying like he wanted to -

Ow. There went his hand, smashing into the chest behind him with a poorly-timed grab. No feathers caught. The wing flexed itself a little like it was teasing him.

"No, bitch, you're _my_ limb. You don't get to have your own personality."

The wing didn't seem to have a response or anything, so he chalked it up to spontaneous personification. You never knew, with shit like hybrids. Hell, Tommy hadn't even known he _was_ a hybrid until these motherfuckers had made their presence known. He'd thought he was just one of the few humans on the server, unremarkable, only outstanding for his frankly winning personality and stunning good looks. But no - bird, apparently. What kind of bird Tommy had no clue. He'd not exactly seen a lot of birds in his lifetime; he wasn't much for jungle biomes, which was the only place he really knew they hung out. Maybe he was forgetting something. Either way, magic worked in mysterious ways, and here he was at nearly _seventeen_ only _just now_ manifesting his hybridity after a life of building his personality on the assumption that the rest of him was completely forgettable.

And these _stupid dumb_ wings wouldn't bloody _cooperate_.

He snatched at them again, and managed to snag one that was out of line, pulling on it until it stabbed sharply at the bed it was growing from, like trying to pull out a stray hair. He sucked in a breath from the quick burst of pain and paused, both hands on the floor, to steady himself. The damn thing wasn't even straight after that - he'd managed to shift it to point in the _other_ wrong direction. Fucking things just made him want to - rip all the feathers out - go back to normal - no fucking flock to help him - _stupid stupid stupid_ \- hybrid fucking blood, that or the thick fucking layer of magic on this server, it was a wonder Wilbur hadn't sprouted a tail or some shit before he'd -

he -

Tommy had grown wings.

Tommy was a hybrid.

But Tommy and Wilbur used to be the human ones.

Together.

When everyone around them was some part animal, when Fundy was a fox and Techno was a pig and even Tubbo had grown horns, Tommy and Wilbur -

didn't -

share that. Any more.

And there it was. Just like Puffy tried to tell him, in their short-lived and poorly executed singular therapy session. The root of the problem.

Tommy wrapped the wings around himself. If he hid, he could pretend he hadn't cried. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend the wings were larger and the shadow was a raven sheen protecting him from the cold. If he could only lie to himself for a little longer, he'd find something else to focus on and not have to worry about the state of his messy -

Knock knock.

"Tommy?"

"Fuck off," he called, muffled through the wing cover.

"Are you downstairs?" Tubbo continued, pushing the door open obliviously, probably too short to see through the windows that he was -

"fucking interrupting something," Tommy muttered, affecting anger.

"You've got -"

Tommy didn't leave his wings. If Tubbo had something to say, he could say it to the primaries. Or whatever the fuck his feathers were - Tommy didn't know anything about wing anatomy, and he wasn't about to ask Philza Minecraft.

"Tommy, did you manifest, and you've not _told_ anyone?"

He almost nodded before remembering that Tubbo couldn't see and settling for a strained "mmm". Good enough.

"How long have you been…?"

To be honest, Tommy wasn't really sure. It had definitely been a few days he'd gone without actually giving the wings the attention they needed - he'd slept on them curled up, and woken up flat on the floor face down and with the things sprawling across his entire room, at least twice. This weird little epilogue sort of period was not helping his sense of time passing - he needed to get a goal, and soon.

First, though. Tubbo.

Tubbo, who was toUCHING HIS WINGS -

"Ah! Tommy!" Tubbo squeaked through a flurry of feathers that shoved him back towards the doorway he'd come through. The wings, instinctively attacking, settled into a defensive position, circling Tommy to give him a few feet of protection either side, and leaving his head-on view open to meet Tubbo's wide brown eyes that darted back and forth from his own to the limbs that postured either side of him. Of course. Prey animal, they were built to keep him safe from either side, but humans came from predators, so he could look straight out and down the gap of dead air between his wingtips. Simple if you thought about it.

"Sorry."

"No, it's fine, you're - I mean, you're such a late… It's natural. Impulses and that. Yeah."

Tommy looked down. Late bloomer. Trust Tubbo to stop himself from saying exactly what Tommy didn't need to hear, and in the process let him hear exactly that.

"They're nice."

"What?"

"Your wings. Are nice. I like them."

"There's a bit of red at the back."

"That's cool. Are you gonna drop them?"

"Dunno how."

"Oh. You're probably tensing them. I don't really - I mean, I'm no wing expert, but I think they have muscles and you can relax the muscles."

Tommy mentally aimed for his shoulder blades and sent what he hoped were signals of declension. He watched the wings retract slightly, falling into a more relaxed pose, brushing the floor just enough to let him feel it, like when your arm hairs get too close to a surface and you can sense it before you touch it. Tickly, almost.

"Good, good, great work, Tommy. You wanna get up or shall I come over?"

"Are you not - busy?"

"Not really, no. Jack Manifold's on guard at Snowchester. I just came to have a chat. And then… Well."

"Yeah."

"So what'll it be?"

Tommy looked at his wings. They felt a little worn out - likely from the exertion of their earlier stretching, since he'd been attempting to preen them for going on an hour - and probably wouldn't appreciate being tucked back in to move around at the moment. "Up to you."

So Tubbo came and sat down next to Tommy. He pulled a wing out of the way to let him have his own space, but -

"Am I not allowed in the bubble?"

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't think you'd want to, er - I can - they're just a bit…"

He flexed the wing again, and this time Tubbo watched with greater intensity, studying the way the feathers spread. "They're all messy."

"Um. Yeah. Bit hard to preen when you're - I mean, they're just so very massive - I -" he sighed "- arms don't reach all the way."

Tubbo turned to kneel before the outstretched wing. "Right, let me -"

Oh.

_Oh. Oh, oh, oh._

_Oh my god, fucking yes._

"Tommy? Is that alright?"

He blinked, slowly.

"Huh?"

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

And, well.

How to describe the ecstasy of being preened without sounding like a perv?

"S'fine," was the affirmation he settled for, head already falling as every muscle in his body, human or bird, relaxed, and Tubbo -

_Ohhhhhhohohohohohhh._

_Yes, flock._

"I'm not sure if I should be doing this," Tubbo frowned, bringing Tommy back to reality like a splash of cold water, because -

"No, no, nononononononono, you can't _stop,"_ he whined, insistent.

"Am I not intruding?"

"Tubbo, please." _You're my brother. You're my family. You're my flock. You're the only person I can trust to -_

_Oh._

_Yes. Right. Good._

_Flock, yes, careful, flock, so right._

"Did I fix it?"

"Mmm," he hummed again, this time because thought was slow to float back into his brain after…

"Am I, like, stepping on your instincts? Is this meant to be my job? Or is this a bird thing? Should I call Phil?"

"Mm, Phil?"

"Philza. Big black wings. Green hat. Mates with the Blade."

"Phil," he repeated, stupidly. Philza Minecraft of the ankle monitor.

God, when they said bird-brained, they weren't exaggerating.

"I'll text him," started Tubbo, pulling out his communicator.

"No," Tommy interrupted, reaching out arms that felt weak for no reason to grab at his best friend's shirt and pull him over. "C'mere."

Tubbo fell into the hug without much tact, all of his weight landing square on Tommy's chest, but at least the horns didn't hit anything, and now he was Tommy's to hold and to comfort the way he had just done. Without a matching pair of wings to preen himself, Tommy's hand threaded into Tubbo's hair to give him a good scratch, the other wrapping tightly around the middle of his body so he couldn't get away. Reciprocity was a hell of a drug.

"We're doing this here?" Tubbo frowned, stifled by the cloth of Tommy's shirt.

"Mmm," he affirmed mindlessly. _Got to give back. So right. Flock._

"I haven't accidentally registered as your mum or something, have I?"

"No. You're just mine now."

"Until when?"

_Until the bird brain deems it sufficient, I suppose._

Before too long, though, his fingers found themselves able to still, his grip releasing around Tubbo's back. The boy pushed up in all his dishevelment and looked Tommy in the eyes again.

"You've got spit on my shirt. It's all cold."

"Well excuse me for not having enough time to close my mouth before you kidnapped me!"

"It wasn't me, it was the stupid bird brain."

"You're a hybrid, Tommy, you _are_ your bird brain."

"Don't remind me."

"What even happened?"

A pause. Tommy shifted his head to have a look at the successfully preened wing. It wasn't perfect, but Tubbo had certainly straightened it out enough to fly on, and if he folded it up slowly enough it would definitely keep. Plus, knowing that that was his best friend's handiwork (had he called him _brother_ earlier?) made it perfect enough for Tommy's liking.

"Don't know."

"Come on, Tommy, give it a go. We're all weird animal people here."

_Well, maybe some of us aren't used to that._ "It was. Nice."

Nice might have been a bit of a tame way to describe the way all rational thought escaped him at the familial touch, at the ritual, but Tommy had never been one to talk about his feelings.

"Nice? You looked like you were on drugs or something."

"A lot nice."

"And you grabbed me right after I got done fixing it because…?"

"I was doing it back."

"Back? I don't have any wings, how could you do it back?"

"Your head."

"Right. That would make sense. You were giving my horns much more attention than you ever have when you go near my hair."

Was he?

Yes, actually, playing back the memory of sensation, because his eyes had been closed, he could feel the change of texture, feel the slope, feel the way his nails skated around the protrusions as he groomed the best way his hybrid human body could. Normally, ruffling Tubbo's hair the way best friends _(brothers)_ did, he'd keep his hand squarely in the middle of the things. But when the bird brain was in charge…

"We have to stop now."

"Do we?"

"Yes."

"What's wrong? Did I make you uncomfortable?"

And, no, entirely the opposite, he'd been more lax and comfortable than he'd probably felt in his entire life, but it was all getting a -

"Bit much."

"Alright. Did you want to go somewhere?"

"No." Downstairs. Out to the bench. Up in the wide blue sky. Into Wilbur's arms.

Fuck.

"We can sit here, that's okay. I still haven't had a chance to have my chat with you about Snowchester."

Tommy pulled the wings in so fast and so forcefully they threatened to fuck back off into hammerspace altogether. "We can sit somewhere proper, if you like."

"Nah. I like the floor." Tubbo grinned, shuffling in to lean against a chest, making himself comfortable. Tommy considered sidling up to lean against him, but decided against. He propped himself back on the wall and ignored his wings' complaints about being squished. Worst case it was like a dead arm, right?

"Okay."

Tubbo started talking. Tommy wasn't listening. He was thinking about… that.

Because shitting hell if his bird brain hadn't felt one soft touch and _immediately_ adopted Tubbo as one of its own, one of its two-man flock. Hell if he hadn't just lost all control of his mind and body at the feeling of fingers running through his feathers, hell if he wasn't still a little dazed from it.

Undeniable, now, that he was a hybrid. That he would never be the same. That he could never go back.

There stood Wilbur, a statue in time, unchanging, as Tommy lived and grew and sprouted wings beyond him. _Ozymandias,_ rattled off the voice of Techno in his head, and he mentally flipped it off in return. He didn't give a damn about no poetry. He cared about the fact that he and Wilbur had once been the _same,_ together, immovable objects, staying human against a tide of magic that swept up almost everyone this server had to offer. Gods and goats and glitches. And there in the middle Wilbur Soot and TommyInnit, _human._

Unfair, that he should get to fly, and Wilbur could only fall from grace in the eyes of the masses. They'd been the same.

"And then obviously there's Foolish, and I'm not really sure _what_ to do with him, if you've got any suggestions?"

Tommy tuned back in. Something about congestion.

"Tommy?"

"No idea."

"You weren't listening at all, were you?"

Tommy looked away. He could never escape his best friend's pitch perfect sense for when he was telling the truth. "I might have been."

"Yeah, but you weren't."

"So?"

"So what were you thinking about?"

Silence.

"Tommy?"

His wings fluttered, like they wanted to reach out and pull in Tubbo, to get Tommy closer to the centre of his flock.

Two compasses, each ever pointing to the other.

"It was just. About Wilbur."

"Aw, Tommy, what about Wilbur?"

_He'll never change again._ "He didn't have any wings."

"Yeah?"

"I mean - he was normal. He'll always be normal."

Tubbo frowned. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but Wilbur turned into a ghost, didn't he?"

Tommy blinked.

"Only ghost I've ever seen. And I was president," smiled Tubbo dryly.

And, well, Tubbo was right.

"Nobody can get away with being _normal_ on this server. Too much magic."

"Too fucking much. You breathe it. You get infected," Tommy agreed, not noticing the way his wings unravelled just a little.

"If anything, _you're_ the normal one, your thing's the same as Big Q _and_ Philza Minecraft."

"Big Q has wings?"

"Only little ones. They go away unless he wants them. We saw in the cabinet."

"That's weird."

"So is growing horns purely by exposure," Tubbo smiled, and then they were both feeling better, Tommy decided.

"I'm glad I could help you, Tubbo."

Tubbo just nodded, smile never fading. "Don't even mention it, Tommy."

"Good, cause I wasn't gonna."

"Do you want me to do the other side?"

Tommy considered this. "Downstairs. More room, and we won't get interrupted. Plus it'll be more comfortable for after, when I… you know."

"And I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut."

"Good. I don't want your spit on me. Just ever."

"Aw, what's wrong with my spit?"

And, still bickering like brothers, Tommy ushered his flock of one downstairs to complete the ritual they'd started.

Tommy still wasn't used to being touched these days, but having his feathers preened by his best friend, the one he trusted more than anyone else in the world?

Well, that felt more than right.

**Author's Note:**

> ok it's 4:30am time to sleep and wake up to one million comments because the internet loves wingfic and the internet loves tom tub interaction so this is The Perfect Fic for the dsmp fandom


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